Once More
by AshaRose
Summary: It's been years since Tyrion left King's Landing and he's only just settled into his new life when a knock at his door changes everything.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Chapter 1:

They had been in King's Landing nearly two months when Tyrion's late night reading was interrupted by a strange knocking at his chamber door. Hopping down from his chair and sparing only a moment to stretch his back to relieve the cramping in his muscles, Tyrion crossed the room and pulled open the door. Not many people had cause to disturb him so late at night, and it was odd that someone would do so now.

Even this thought did not prepare him for the peculiar site that greeted him once he opened the door. Tyrion had thought perhaps it was some sort of emergency summons from the Queen, but when he swung open the door an extremely large brother of the faith was standing before him. The brother's face was wrapped in a wool scarf and hidden behind a gray hood, concealing his identity. Though the site of a Brother was rarely imposing, this man's enormous stature suggested that of a fighter not priest. The man stood still for a long moment staring down at the Imp, and Tyrion felt every inch of the near three-foot difference in their heights. At length the brother spoke in a gruff voice took Tyrion longer to place than it ought.

"Found something that belongs to you," he rasped at Tyrion.

This was not at all what Tyrion was expecting to hear, and it took him a few moments to realize that the large man was moving and that he was pulling something out from behind his back. By now the man had moved into Tyrion's chambers and Tyrion waddled after him to see exactly what was being placed on his bed.

Though Tyrion wouldn't have believed another shock could be in store for him, when the big man moved back to kneel beside the bed, Tyrion felt his stomach flip with surprise. Words escaped him and his mouth went completely dry. How long had it been since he'd seen her? Five years? Maybe six? Truthfully, he had never expected to see her again. No one had seen her since that night six years ago. There had been a whisper that she'd been spotted in various places about the kingdom, but the rumors could never be confirmed before she disappeared again. And now, here she was as pale and beautiful as ever- looking conspicuously like a sleeping princess from one of those songs she loved so much.

Tyrion never did find the words to speak, and had nearly forgotten about his strange companion until the man spoke once more. "She's not... right. Something happened. They weren't careful and the little bird got hurt. Won't sing at all now. Needs to be protected. I can't... I did what I can." After a pause he pulled a bag off of his shoulder and laid it beside the bed. Then, after thinking a moment he pulled out a crimson garment and handed it to Tyrion. "She was wearing this when I found her," the man offered in way of an explanation.

Unfolding the gown Tyrion felt his eyes widen as he realized that the dress was not a deep red shade like he had thought at first glance but instead had been a light shade of blue. It was covered in, "...blood," Tyrion whispered in shock.

"And not a scratch on her," the large man rasped with a nod. At length he stood and looked hard at Tyrion again. "She needs to be taken care of now," he said and Tyrion tried to work out whether it was a suggestion or a threat.

As the man started to leave, Tyrion gathered his wits and called out, "Clegane." When the man stopped and turned to look at him, Tyrion went on. "Why me? Why bring her here?"

Squaring his shoulders, the man said stiffly, "I promised to take her to family, and she wanted to be brought to you."

With that, the big man left Tyrion alone in the room looking down at the sleeping form of the wife he had never thought he'd see again. For a long moment, Tyrion simply stared at her taking in the soft rise and fall of her chest and the way her unbound auburn hair fanned out around her on the pillow. A glance to the window told him it was the hour of the wolf- a fitting time for his Northern bride to be returned to him. In the morning he would call the maesters and septas to look her over, but for now he would let her sleep.

Tyrion had never been a particularly good sleeper and had yet to retire for the evening. Now that his night had been so disturbed, he thought it unlikely he'd sleep at all. His mind was filled with too many questions and too many strange hypotheses. So resigning himself to a long bout of wakefulness, he settled into a chair and let his mind wander over the many possible explanations of where his wife had been these last years.

Eventually the cold light of dawn began to creep in through the windows and Tyrion decided to retrieve the maesters. Before exiting the room, Tyrion paused next to the bed long enough to brush a lock of hair from her forehead. Somehow, he still couldn't truly believe that she was there sleeping in his bed after so long. He nearly expected her to disappear before his eyes. There were some things he still wanted to ask her about, but those would wait for now. It was strange having her here suddenly- the wife that had never wanted him.

Part of him dreaded the moment she'd wake up and look at him with those cold, unyielding eyes of hers, and yet something about the fact that she had wanted to be brought to him intrigued him. What had happened to her while they were apart? For now, he would observe her and shelter her. There would be time to figure the rest out later.

Seeing as she was exhausted, Tyrion had the maester and the septas wait in the hall until his wife woke of her own accord. When at last she did stir and Tyrion was about to be faced with her conscious form, he began to feel a bit nervous. Instead of waiting around to explain everything, he stood and let the healers in to tend to her.

In hindsight, it may not have been the best action because upon waking to see strangers, his wife seemed more than a little alarmed. In her haste to sit up and put distance between herself and the healers, she nearly fell off the bed. Realizing how skittish she was now, Tyrion finally spoke up, "It is alright, my Lady." His wife's frightened eyes moved slowly until they fixed on him and Tyrion was not quite ready for the look that passed over their icy blue surface. The wild, cornered look abated almost instantly and was replaced with a strange sort of calm. It startled Tyrion for the sheer fact that he couldn't recall a time he'd seen a look so near to trust on his wife's face. Clearing his throat to recuperate from his startle, Tyrion continued. "Sansa," he said addressing her clearly and he rather hoped reassuringly, "this is Maester Collum and Saptas Alysan and Marea. They only want to look you over to make sure you are well after your... ordeal."

Sansa did look a bit relieved and Tyrion thought he should probably do something reassuring like smile, but decided it might frighten her further. Instead, he inclined his head and said, "I will leave them to it."

As he turned to leave he heard a small squeak that stopped him in his tracks. Surely he imagined it, but he couldn't keep himself from turning back to glance at his wife who was looking quite ill-at-ease once more. The thought was so bizarre, that he hardly dared think it, but he was certain the squeak had come from her. Tyrion could remember moments in the past when he had wanted to comfort her but didn't, or when he had wanted to touch her yet refrained. If she had made that sound, it wasn't exactly a reassuring sign that she wanted something more from him, but she had never been shy about distancing from him in the past. So not knowing whether the noise was such an indication or whether he simply wanted it to be, he asked, "Would you prefer if I stay?"

For a long moment, Sansa looked at him and Tyrion felt as though those bewildered eyes were seeing far more than a normal observer. A length her eyes met his own and she gave an almost imperceptible nod, almost as if she were afraid that he would refuse.

Taking up his seat again he said, "Then I'll stay."

With that Sansa relaxed, and let the healers begin to examine her. Tyrion adverted his eyes while the septas cleaned and changed her. The temptation to look was great, so he decided it would be best to otherwise occupy his eyes, Tyrion composed a missive to the Queen explaining his absence from court that day. There were few secrets in King's Landing and Tyrion had figured out that Daenerys preferred people to be forthwith rather than finding things out by unsavory means. And though Tyrion wasn't exactly certain what the return of Sansa meant for him, he was certain that he didn't want the Queen to think he was keeping it from her.

Just after he sent his letter off with a page, one of the septas approached him. Alysan he thought. "What news of my wife?" he asked when he noticed that the Septa looked a little distressed.

Nodding the woman furrowed her brow. "You wife seems to be in good health. There were several old injuries, but most have healed now. She is a bit travel worn, but you mentioned she only just arrived so that is to be expected."

"Healers don't wear grim faces to tell good news," Tyrion observed, "What exactly is the problem."

"She doesn't speak," the Septa informed him as she knotted her knobby fingers together. "We have asked her questions at length, but she remains unresponsive. There appears to be no damage to her throat or lasting injury to the area. From what we can tell she received no head wound. It leads us to believe that she isn't physically incapable."

"So you are saying she _can _speak but she simply doesn't _want _to?" Tyrion asked.

Shaking her old head the holy woman said, "It isn't always that simple. It often seems like she doesn't even hear us. There is a haunted look about her. Something has happened that has made her this way. I've seen it in the past- saw it a lot with the war. Someone sees something horrific and they become... strange. They go away somewhere inside. This sort of injury can't be treated by a maester. We always have room for lost souls in the Sept. She would be comfortable and perhaps could find some peace with the Seven."

As the implication of what she was suggestion washed over him, Tyrion scowled . "She is my _wife_," he intoned in a commanding voice, "you are not going to lock her away. She will remain here with me. And if there is nothing useful you lot can tell me, you can get out." He wondered briefly whether he had a right to act so possessive or protective over the girl, but there was simply too much mystery surrounding her appearance for him to let her be taken away now. There had also been something in her eyes, that he couldn't quite comprehend, but Tyrion had the strange impression that she didn't want to leave him.

The other septa and the maester heard the commotion and seemed ready to take their leave as well. Once they were out, Tyrion pulled his chair over by Sansa's bedside. Perhaps she was still tired because Sansa was laying on the bed still and looking at the far wall. Tyrion sighed and was once more at a loss for what to say. Eventually, he spoke in a small not entirely reassuring voice. "It's all going to be alright now," he promised somewhat emptily. "So many things have happened to me since the day we parted- so many seemingly impossible things. I've looked fate in the face more times than I can count and somehow persisted. I'm sure you have done the same. This- whatever this is- is just one more thing that we will overcome."

She turned to face him then, and Tyrion was nearly startled by how _wrong_ those healers had been. Sansa was anything but unresponsive. It was true that her mouth stayed fixed in the same sad line and she gave no indication of being able to speak back to him. But her cold icy eyes blazed behind their glassy exterior. Perhaps something had happened that had frightened or scared her badly, but Sansa had not gone away. She was right there, burning behind her cold blue eyes. It was that look that made him certain that she'd be herself again in time.

He was so focused on what was wrong with her, he didn't take the time to pause and wonder why he actually cared. He could always argue that he cared because she was his wife, but their marriage at best had been a ruse and he hadn't seen her in years. Still, that didn't change the fact that he'd put his cloak around her shoulders and promised to protect her-she needed protecting now more than ever. He had to admit that it plied at his vanity a bit that she had come to him- that she _needed_ him- and so he couldn't simply turn her away.

Honestly, Tyrion had no idea what to do for her. A servant had arrived with some food and Tyrion looked at his wife and said, "Shall we?"

Sansa didn't answer, but made the slightest nod of her head. With some difficultly, Sansa managed to sit up and push her legs over the edge of the bed. Uncertain of how much she was capable of on her own and whether she would want help at all, Tyrion decided to offer her a hand. A moment passed where she simply stared at his proffered hand, but just as Tyrion was about to pull away, she took it gently. Her fingers were soft and cold in his warm hand. When she stood up, Tyrion noted that the gown they dressed her in didn't quite cover her wrists and the skirt fell a few inches above her ankles. It was obvious that the dress was not made for her, and Tyrion made note to have a seamstress visit in the afternoon.

After leading Sansa to a chair in their sitting room, Tyrion took a seat opposite her and started in on his breakfast. The lack of sleep made him doubly hungry and he was so intent on his own meal that he didn't stop to look at his wife until he was halfway finished.

Across the table from him, she was poking at her porridge with a spoon, but not managing any of it to her mouth.

"Sansa," he said softly causing the girl to look up, "you need to eat something."

There was a wounded look in her eyes and Tyrion realized that there had been more sorrow for her once she'd left King's Landing. A moment of guilt seized him- he should have protected her better then- but he pushed it aside since she needed him now. Something about the way she was sitting, almost as if she might need to stand up and flee any moment, gave Tyrion some hints into what she must be feeling.

Tyrion dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a cloth, before setting it aside and looking at her seriously. "Things are different now Sansa. The people in power are not out to hurt you. Queen Daenerys is especially sympathetic to young women who have faced hardship. She will see that you are no longer the target of political ploys. No one is going to hurt you any more," and with a fierceness he didn't quite know he possessed he added, "I won't let them."

Her sad eyes drifted up to his now and seemed to consider that statement for a moment. Tyrion went on, "I cannot change the things that happened to you in the past, but I can promise that the future will be better. But you have to help. You need to eat and regain your strength so you can see just how different things will be." A flicker of something passed before her eyes and Tyrion recognized it again- she trusted him for some inexplicable reason. "Eat," Tyrion said with a smile, "Or I will be forced to embarrasses us both by feeding you."

He meant it as a joke and was glad to see the corners of her lips turn up slightly in recognition. It convinced him more than anything that his wife was not an invalid. She was perfectly capable, she was simply a little lost. Despite himself, he found it intriguing. Not only was there the mystery of what had happened to her, but he had always been drawn to people he needed to help or save. Maybe he liked to feel needed. Sansa started eating and Tyrion counted that as his first small success. He waited until she had eaten her fill before he spoke again.

"There are some things I will need to do today, many of them I think I can accomplish here if you like," Sansa nodded at this. "I will need to leave at some point though. And we will need to have you fitted for some proper gowns." A nervous glint flashed through

her eyes and Tyrion said, "I can be here for that if you like." She nodded again and Tyrion felt curiously important. "Very well then. I need to get started on my work. I'm afraid I don't have many of the things young ladies find entertaining. When you feel well enough, you can go up to the sewing room with the other ladies, but if you wish to remain here, I'm afraid all I have to offer is books." She nodded again and Tyrion mused for a moment that it was only slightly different than the last time they were together when she spoke nothing but courtesies to him. "I will be in my study, should you have need of me."

And true to his word, when he went into the adjacent room to work he left his door open. Sansa looked around the room. She was quite glad that it wasn't the same chamber they'd shared last time they had been in King's Landing. They weren't in the Tower of the Hand either. These rooms were entirely different and she could almost pretend that King's Landing wasn't just on the other side of those doors. Despite the peace that had been instilled in the kingdom, their journey to King's Landing had been exhausting and dangerous. On the road, Sansa hardly had any time to stop and think about anything. Now, that she had finally arrived, life suddenly seemed so still. All the things she'd been running from on the road threatened to catch up now that she stopped running.

Sandor had been right though; she needed to rest. She couldn't keep going they way they had been. They had ridden aimlessly for a few weeks, but one night he announced that he was taking her back to her family. At an inn, they'd heard tidings that young Rickon had been restored as Lord of Winterfell and was returning to rebuild the castle with his great-uncle. But when Sandor mentioned this to her, Sansa shook her head violently. They had only just left Winterfell weeks ago and she had no desire to return there. Not after what had happened.

In addition, she'd seen what she was worth to men. If she turned up in Winterfell, her great-uncle would waste no time in marrying her off to strengthen the ties between families. It seemed that the resolution of war was marriage. There had been more wedding tidings now than Sansa could ever remember hearing at once. Going North would see her re-married within the turn of a few moons. Sandor had saddled the horses and had come to help her mount her mare, but Sansa stood ridged as a stature. The gruff man cursed at her and tried to explain that he couldn't keep her like this. Sooner or later they'd be discovered and it'd mean trouble for them both. She was better off with her family and away from him.

Sansa didn't move. There were several reasons why she couldn't go to Winterfell, but she lacked the ability to convey them. When she tried, everything began rushing back at once and she began to feel unstable. Sansa didn't realize she was swaying on her feet until Sandor's big hands caught her. Even after weeks of traveling together, she couldn't abide by being touched. Quickly, she pulled away and stumbled into the horse. His hands on her waist brought back memories of a different man and for a moment the world blurred as her reality shifted and she was in a different place entirely.

Her knees gave out and it was only her grip on the saddle that kept her upright. It was a few moments more before she registered the raspy voice calling, "Little bird." Eventually, her breathing calmed as the panic left her. "You don't want to go to Winterfell, little bird?" he asked softer now. She shook her head no. "Where will I take you then?"

A moment of clarity came to her and Sansa stood and looked around her and pointed to the opposite direction of the horses. "South?" Sandor gasped, "There's nothing for you there. No family." Sansa shot him a look then that clearly meant there was something for her in the South. How to make him understand... Sansa's hands went to her cloak and she mimed putting it on over and over again.

Sandor cursed under his breath, and she knew he understood her meaning. It was one of her better days. Some days were simply awful and later when she tried to remember those, the memories were fuzzy. She could scarcely remember anything about the days before Sandor found her. Once he did find her and promise to keep her safe, she started to remember more, but there were days still when she was simply lost. They couldn't travel when she was like that and they couldn't stay in the same place for very long since "the Hound" was wanted all over Westeros for crimes committed during the war. No one in authority would care that he lost his helm before they were committed, so long as someone died for the crimes.

Maybe they both knew he wouldn't be able to protect her for long. Even if he wasn't thrilled by the choice she made, he respected her decision. When they were on their way to King's Landing- on the days her mind was unmuddled enough to think- she remembered her first marriage and realized that she had been lucky in that her husband's pride would not allow him to touch a woman who didn't want him. That had not been the case once she left King's Landing and she believed this would not be the case anywhere else too. She couldn't explain to Sandor that Tyrion was safe, that he wouldn't touch her or give her away. Sansa could scarcely comprehend the reasons herself, but she knew deep down that she was safe with him.

Now, wandering about Tyrion's rooms, an overwhelming sense of guilt and regret washed over her. Maybe her knees gave out, or maybe she simply collapsed because before she knew it, the ground had rushed up to meet her and she felt as though she couldn't breathe. It was her fault for trusting Dantos, for running to Petyr, for everything that happened- all her misfortune was her own doing. She shouldn't have left, shouldn't have trusted Petyr, shouldn't have... shouldn't... as the days began rushing past her and her mind returned to the Vale and the North, she felt her body growing weaker and breathing became harder. It was all her fault- all of it happened because of her.

She didn't realize that her husband was calling out to her until she felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. His mismatched eyes were looking at her with concern as he worried his lips apparently at a loss of what to say. Sansa didn't care. She didn't need words; she didn't rightly know _what_ she needed. There was hesitation written all over his face and Sansa knew he was at a loss of what to do.

The only good that had come from her time with Petyr was that she had learned how to read people. As the fog cleared from her mind, she took in her husband's strange features and realized that he wanted to comfort her but was reluctant to touch her. A moment of panic seized her. He knew how dirty she was- why else would he shy away from touching her? She was vile, filthy. She...

"Forgive me, lady," her husband breathed out in a rush and the next thing Sansa knew she was being held tightly to his chest. Now he would move, like Petyr, like other men. But then instead of groping around to her breasts, Tyrion's hands went to smooth down her hair and remained there. He simply held her and Sansa's slightly panicked mind struggled to think what he could mean by it. Eventually he spoke again in a soft voice, "I know you are not particularly fond of me, and I can't imagine you want to be held by me, but you looked so sad, my lady."

His words sunk in and Sansa realized that the reason for his hesitation had been because he had been considering _her_ feelings. It had been so long since anyone had considered the way she felt that Sansa struggled to believe it. Steadying her breath, Sansa waited for his hands to move down her back to her bottom or her breasts. But his hands never strayed from her hair and at length she realized that he never meant them to.

It was in that moment that she felt her own arms move- stiffly at first- from her sides to her husband. Once her hands brushed his tunic, they moved faster, more sure of what they were doing. In the next instant they had wound themselves round him completely and clung to him. She buried her face in his neck and held him while her shoulders heaved and her breathing came erratically. His hands shifted only slightly in order to rub her shoulders in a comforting manner. When at last the shaking stopped and her breathing had evened out, Tyrion's hands grasped her shoulders more firmly and pulled her away from his chest. She half expected him to push her away entirely, but one hand held fast to her shoulder while the other hand fumbled in his breast pocket.

Eventually he found the handkerchief he was looking for and brought it up to Sansa's face. Lightly he brushed it against her cheeks and only then did Sansa realize that her cheeks were wet. Her eyes closed involuntarily and she leaned her face into his palm. He stiffened then as if he were suddenly unsure of all his movements. Sansa's eyes flew open and she looked at him uncertainly, suddenly remembering that they were really only two outcasts who had been thrown together by others. She had come here because she knew being here would stop her from being forced to go somewhere worse. She had come here because he was the one man she trusted not to touch her. So why then, for that moment, had she felt so safe when he held her?

Tyrion was still facing her with the handkerchief held in his outstretched hand, so Sansa moved to take it from him. When her fingertips brushed against his, her husband seemed to come back to himself and he let her take the cloth. Feeling a little embarrassed, Sansa dabbed at her eyes and thanked the Seven that her nose had refrained from running. Tyrion was watching her as Sansa held the handkerchief back out to him. With sympathetic eyes, he took the handkerchief back and stuffed it into his doublet. "The seamstress is supposed to be here shortly, but perhaps we can send her away until tomorrow morning." Sansa nodded at this and her husband continued. "Do you think you could manage some dinner? Your lunch seems to have been left untouched."

How much time had she lost that day before Tyrion came in? It had only been just after breakfast when everything started to overwhelm her. Lunch had been brought in and she didn't even notice. With a slow nod, Sansa made to stand but Tyrion jumped up and helped her to her feet. Then with a slight bow, he said, "My lady," and offered her his arm. When she took it he escorted her to the sitting room for dinner.

The meal began in a strained silence, but eventually Tyrion began to speak. "I'm sure you are eager to tell the tale of what you've been up to these last few years, but I think I will take that opportunity first. I do wonder who's adventure has been bigger, though I daresay it is mine. I traveled more than half the world under a myriad of professions to meet the dragon Queen and come back to Westeros." With that Tyrion began to talk of all the things he'd seen and done since the last day they were together. Sansa was glad for the distraction and found herself actually engaged in his story. It was the most focused she had felt in weeks. As she listened to him speak, Sansa appreciated the fact that he spoke to her as if they were conversing even if he knew she wouldn't respond. On the road once people realized she wouldn't respond, they simply talked at her. Tyrion even left pauses as if he was waiting for her answer and after, he spoke as if she had truly answered him.

The meal ended and still they sat there, Tyrion telling the tale and Sansa listening with rapt attention. He was pleased by her reaction and engagement in the tale, and so he kept talking until she was unable to completely hide a yawn.

"It is getting late I suppose," Tyrion sighed. "I will have a girl come in to help get you ready for bed." With that he rose and went to find a handmaid for the evening. Sansa wanted to tell him that she didn't care, that she'd rather listen to more of his story, but the words wouldn't come out.

The girl came in to help Sansa wash and dress. Eventually she was clean and ready for bed and left on her own. Sleep wouldn't come however and she found herself awake and sitting at a window. The moon had climbed high in the sky when her husband walked in. Perhaps he didn't expect her to be awake, because he sounded a bit surprised, "Oh, you're still up."

Sansa simply looked at him with her sad eyes and let him keep talking. "The Queen is very keen to meet you, but I've convinced her to give you a bit of time. She's agreed with me to keep your presence here quiet until you feel more up to making yourself known."

Giving a slight nod, Sansa let her husband know that this was fine with her.

"I'm not sure how long we can make Daenerys wait," Tyrion went on, "she is the Queen after all. But I think she will understand if you are not feeling well still when you do meet her." Sansa turned back to the window and shrugged. She figured that he would probably begin getting ready for bed, but instead she heard him sit down heavily and sigh. "I wish I knew how to make you better," he confessed sounding almost like he was talking to himself more than her. "It's just like the last time all over again. I can see that you're hurt, but there is nothing I can do about it. Would you even want me to? I have been told that I think myself too important. Perhaps I should stop forcing my presence on you and find you some handsome young knight to keep you company. And like some shining hero in a story he will make you feel better again."

Sansa had been given one shining young knight and found that she liked him no more than she liked princes or kings or whatever it was that Petyr was meant to be. She could have gone back to Winterfell and her family would have found a way around the marriage and found her a young lord to give her away to. She hadn't come to King's Landing for any of _those_ things, she had come for her husband. And though it was because she at least knew what life with Tyrion was like and it was preferable to the other ways of living she had known, and much preferable to the uncertainty of a new life; she couldn't deny that she felt a bit better when he simply held her and let her work out her own mind. Other men always expected things of her, or demanded things of her. Tyrion simply accepted whatever she was able to give whenever she was able to give it. She hadn't understood it until earlier that day, but perhaps she had known it in the back of her mind for some time.

That was why she wanted to come back here. Not because she had to or because she felt obligated, but because of Tyrion. It was a startling realization, and she didn't quite know how to let him know. So instead of trying, she stood from her seat by the window and walked over to the bed where he was sitting. Without a word, she pulled back the bed clothes and sat down, then made sure to pull the covers back from Tyrion's side as well. He gave her a questioning look, but she simply nodded.

As quietly as she had moved before, her husband moved now as he removed his shoes and jacket and stripped down to his small clothes. He understood her it seemed because when he slipped into the bed, he did not move to hold or touch her- he merely laid down beside her. The candles had been lit some time ago, so most had burned out already leaving only a dim glow in the room. Sansa moved slowly to touch his shoulder and she heard him release a long breath. Allowing her fingers to move slightly, Sansa traced small circles over the skin of his shoulder. It wasn't much she knew, but the smallest touches spoke volumes between them.

Tyrion had closed his eyes and focused on breathing evenly. Her presence in the bed was affecting him, Sansa could tell by the way the covers laid over his body, peeking just below his waist. But he did not move to take pleasure in her no matter that she was technically his wife and that she'd come back to him. At length, he reached a hand up to his shoulder and took her hand softly in his own. His expression was somewhat pained as he whispered, "You should try to get some sleep."

When she returned his suggestion with a soft smile, the corners of his lips twitched upward and he relaxed a bit. Sansa turned onto her side so that she was facing him and did not untangle her fingers from his. She had closed her eyes, but she could feel the bed shifting and knew that he'd turned to face her as well. When they had last shared a bed, there might as well have been a stone wall in between them. Their sleep had never been restful as they focused on keeping as far apart as possible. This time, facing each other with their hands clasped together, Sansa felt a strange sense of comfort and belonging.

Perhaps if they had never been married, Sansa would have never found such ease in his presence, but since they had, it gave her a base for comparison. She'd never felt so comfortable with Petyr. In fact it was quite the opposite. Even sleeping in different rooms in the same castle as Petyr made her feel ill at ease. But that line of thought turned her mind to unpleasant things and without realizing or meaning to, she shifted closer to the warmth of Tyrion's hand. By the time she fell asleep, she'd had her cheek pillowed on their entwined hands.

It wasn't until after Sansa had finally drifted off to sleep that Tyrion finally felt bold enough to move. Her cheek felt so soft where it rested against the tips of his fingers that he couldn't keep himself from stretching his other hand out to softly caress her other cheek. Sansa sighed in her sleep, which prompted Tyrion to move his fingertips back toward her hair. Pushing one long red strand back behind her ear, he let his fingers trail around the smooth curve of her ear and down the line of her jaw before letting his fingers fall away and bringing them back to himself. She had been so perfectly made that it seemed a cruel jape of fate that she had been forced to share his bed even if he had never taken her the way a man takes a wife.

But she had come back to him. She could have kept running, or returned to her own family and fought their union, but she returned to him. Perhaps what had occurred for her while they were apart had been so terrible that being with him paled in comparison. He shuddered at the thought even as an intense curiosity filled him. He would find out one way or another what had happened and make sure those responsible for his wife's current position were rightfully punished. The hand holding hers tightened with his resolve. Maybe she would never want him, Tyrion thought, but she trusted him now and that seemed to make all the difference.

After her brother's death, Tyrion had wanted to comfort her- to make her see he wasn't the monster she imagined him to be. It seemed now that she'd come to that conclusion on her own and she was letting him help her. For now, that change was enough. It was something after all. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered about what had befallen her. Had she spent years on the run as he had? Had she been cold and tired and hungry? Had she run away to a Sept or been taken in? Had she pretended to be nobody and that was why they couldn't find her? Filled with questions, his mind finally drifted off.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed! This story is written completely, so I ought to be able to post the chapters fairly quickly. (I just have to split them up as I go.) Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

The morning came warm and bright. Sansa couldn't remember the last time she slept so soundly, and now found herself reluctant to greet the day. It was when she went to burrow deeper into her pillow that she was confused. The material beneath her head did not yield to her movement like a pillow ought to, and it gave a sleepy laugh when her hair brushed against it.

That was how she realized that her head was cradled not by a pillow but by the crook of Tyrion's arm. It shouldn't be a big deal seeing as he was her husband, but the thought of being caught like this made her ashamed. Moving too quickly would certainly wake him up, but if she waited too long to move, he'd wake on his own. Sansa had been in compromising positions with Petyr- he'd always used them against her. She had no wishes to repeat that experience, so she attempted to extract herself from Tyrion's side. But she only succeeded in rousing her husband from slumber. As his eyelids fluttered, Sansa's mouth fell open and shut a few times as though she expected some explanation to fall from her silent lips. By the time his eyes were fully open, she had prepared herself for the degrading and tongue lashing she was bound to receive, but the only sound that came from Tyrion's lips was a sleepy contented noise.

A smile would never look at home on her husband's strange face, but when the corners of his lips turned upward, Sansa felt her breath come easier. Shifting a little and picking her head up so she could look at his face properly, Sansa considered how they had gotten so close together. Tyrion's head was still centered on his pillow, which meant she had been the one to move during the night. While part of her reprimanded herself for being needlessly weak and vulnerable- in a voice that sounded a suspiciously great deal like Petyr's- the rest of her tried to argue that there was no shame in needing comfort. Still, she couldn't quite get herself to believe it, so she looked at Tyrion uncertainly waiting for him to do something.

It didn't bear thinking about what such a display would have gotten her in front of Petyr. That man was willing to exploit even the slightest weakness to the fullest. Sansa reminded herself that all men were not Petyr, and that was why she had come _here_ instead. In fact, there was an uncertain look in her husband's eyes as if he expected rejection from_ her_. Of course she realized a moment later that he had more cause to expect rejection from her than she had to expect degradation from him. So, Sansa hesitantly nodded before forming her mouth into a slight smile.

Tyrion remained as silent as Sansa herself was, but his hand came up to tentatively touch her shoulder. Sansa allowed herself to ease into his touch as she moved herself back down to rest her head upon his chest once more. In truth, it felt nice. She had been held by Petyr and by Harry before, but their touches had been so insistent that she hardly felt safe enough to relax at all.

She knew from experience that Tyrion would not press her into doing anything she didn't specifically ask for, and so as she settled down in his arms, she finally felt safe. It had been a long time since she had actually felt safe around another person, and Sansa knew not to underestimate the trust she felt. Tyrion held her for a long while and his hands never once moved to take advantage of their close position. Eventually he asked in a kind voice, "Are you feeling better this morning? Do you think you might be able to meet with the seamstress today?"

Sansa looked up at him for a moment and realized with some surprise that she did feel better- not just better than she had yesterday but better in general. With a small smile she nodded. He returned her smile and sighed, "Then let's get up and break our fast."

Tyrion helped her out of the bed, pulled on his trousers and tunic, and left her so that she might have some privacy to get ready. Without the aid of a handmaid, Sansa braided her hair simply and found the woolen shift she had worn the day before. When she felt ready enough she went into the sitting room she found that breakfast was just being brought in. She sat down and looked at the food not feeling much like eating, but her stomach made a noise that betrayed it's hunger. Tyrion looked at her with a raised eyebrow and Sansa started picking at some bread and jam.

There was a moment of quiet between them before Tyrion began filling the silence with more of his story. Sansa smiled as she nibbled on her bread. Once, she would have been displeased by his easy manner, but all the polished and practiced words Petyr had used never made her like him more-rather she seemed to like Petyr less every time he opened his mouth. In fact, she was so sick of false words that she rather enjoyed the easy way words fell from Tyrion's lips. He was quite amusing really, and it left Sansa wondering how she had never noticed before. It took her a bit to realize that the armor of courtesy she wore as a child kept out more than just enemies- it also kept out people who might actually have wanted to help her.

Soon their plates were empty and Tyrion had walked around the table to offer her his hand. As she stood up, a moment of boldness took her and she leaned over and placed her palm gently upon Tyrion's cheek. The instant her hand touched his face, his cheeks began turning a rosy shade of pink. It made the corners of Sansa's lips twitch upward. It amused her that a man with his reputation could blush from such a simple gesture. Tyrion fumbled his words for a moment before informing her that he'd send someone to get the seamstress before he retired to his solar.

And that was how Sansa spent the better part of her day- being fit for everything from small clothes to evening wear. Apparently her husband had ordered her an entire wardrobe as befit a Lady of house Lannister. When the woman spoke of the dresses to come, it sounded to Sansa that she could wear a different dress every day for months and still never need to repeat one. Once she might have objected to such a treatment over her, but she had grown and understood a good deal more about men's pride now. Even though Sansa was certain she didn't need half as many items as her husband had ordered her, she accepted it with as much grace as possible reminding herself that her husband didn't mean to buy her with these items but was attempting to do something nice for her. Somehow she'd learned to distinguish the difference in motives though she didn't want to recall how.

It was a little difficult for her to stay poised when the seamstress continually addressed her as Lady Lannister. When she had left King's Landing all those years ago she had technically been Lady Sansa of House Lannister, but Tywin's death had left Tyrion as the rightful Lord of house Lannister and Queen Daenerys had seen that the title Lord Lannister was restored to him. That in turn made her Lady Lannister- a title so big that she felt she might never get used to it. It was a shocking address to hear, especially since she hadn't considered it before the seamstress had addressed her as such.

Tyrion returned as the seamstress was finishing up- just in time to hear her call Sansa "Lady Lannister" one last time. Perhaps the look on her face gave Sansa away, because her husband could scarcely keep a straight face. As the woman left, Sansa allowed the irritation to show on her own features before finally finding amusement in the situation.

"I do apologize, my Lady," he said with a chuckle in his voice once the seamstress was gone, "I fear I've only called you 'Sansa' and 'lady' leaving you ill prepared for how others might address you. They will call you Lady Lannister now I'm afraid." With that, Tyrion explained how the Queen had restored his rightful title to him. "Perhaps, rather than Lord and Lady Lannister, we might address each other as Tyrion and Sansa when you regain your ability of speech."

Sansa looked cross at him, but could hardly keep her shoulders from shaking in mirth as a slight noise that might have been a giggle passed from her lips. Almost as soon as that happened, a feeling of inexplicable guilt came over her and she had to clutch a nearby table to steady herself. How could she laugh after so much had gone so horribly wrong? The memory of a cruel, mirthless chortle filled her mind as her body began to feel weak. She couldn't keep the images out of her head as her limbs began to tremble. The frequency with which such episodes haunted her was irritating, and the images passed by too quickly for her to make sense of them. All she knew was that they filled her with dread.

Something wet pressed against her forehead and someone was whispering soothing words into her ear. As Sansa's breathing began to slow, she could focus more on those words and she recognized Tyrion's voice. It brought her back to herself more quickly than usual. Opening her eyes slightly, Sansa watched as he worked a wet cloth in one had moving it over her forehead and down her face to her neck. How strange that his hands were becoming so familiar to her now. She found the blunted shape of them reassuring, and though it was only a cloth that touched her, she could remember the feeling of his fingers on her skin and it didn't frighten her.

His other hand, she realized was around her shoulders, supporting her. It was another terrible moment of vulnerability, and yet Tyrion did not use it against her. Listening to his words now, she realized that he as whispering her name over and over like one might do to soothe a frightened child. "Sansa," he whispered, "Sansa, it's alright now. Sansa, you're safe here."

In his arms, Sansa stirred, but instead of moving away, she turned toward him and clutched to his tunic. Quickly, Tyrion put down the cloth and moved the arm that wasn't holding her up to stroke her hair. With her face buried against his chest he nearly missed the soft sound that she made against him. In two days he had gotten so used to her not speaking that it took him a bit to realize that the sounds she was currently making was an attempt at a word. "t...t," she sputtered. "Tyr..." The whole word wouldn't come out, but his chest swelled when he realized what she was trying to say.

"Shh," he said comfortingly, "I'm here, Sansa, I'm here." Without pausing to first consider the action, he pressed his lips against the top of her head. Immediately after the kiss, Tyrion stiffened realizing it might have been too forward and hoping he didn't cause her any more distress. She moved again, this time to sit up away from him, and Tyrion assumed that he'd gone too far and taken too much liberty. The frail trust they'd built up over the last couple days would shatter around him and it was all his own fault.

But she didn't move very far away. Instead, her blue eyes looked over his face for a moment and Tyrion felt very exposed. She was so close and his scar so on display. The proximity to her made him feel uglier than usual. But it wasn't his missing nose that she was fixated on- it was his lips. When her hand began to move, Tyrion felt paralyzed and feared breathing too loud as though it would disturb whatever thought was working its way through her head.

Then, her delicate fingers gently ghosted over his lips. Whether this meant she was considering his kiss or letting him know it was okay was beyond Tyrion, but he let out the breath he was holding when he realized she didn't hold it against him. He smiled against her fingertips and watched her own lips turn up in response.

With strong yet gentle hands, Tyrion found her elbows and helped them both get to their feet. "Does this happen often?" he asked cautiously when his wife was standing again. "It took me some time to calm you down."

Sansa shrugged and nodded whilst looking apologetic.

"No need for that," Tyrion challenged with a wave of his hand. "I don't think you can help it. I said we'd work though it together, and I meant it."

She smiled at him softly then, and Tyrion knew she appreciated this. Offering her his hand, he tried not to let her see how important that made him feel. "Come, my Lady," he said, "I believe dinner will be brought in shortly."

They walked quietly to the sitting room each contemplating the foundations of this new bond between them. Certainly, something was there between them- a friendship of sorts. Tyrion enjoyed being the one to comfort her and the one on whom she relied. It soothed the wounds she'd given his pride when they'd been first thrown together. For her part, Sansa found that she was remembering herself more easily with him. She still had moments where the world rose up and overwhelmed her, but she had a feeling that these episodes were becoming shorter and the moments of clarity between them were becoming longer. When she traveled with Sandor, he'd told her she'd be lost in such a state for days at a time. It had only been two days since she'd arrived in King's Landing, but her mind felt clearer and her body stronger than usual. It was something.

The next morning a page came in bearing a missive saying that the Queen expected to meet Sansa in three weeks time whether she was feeling better or not. Tyrion relayed this to Sansa and asked if she understood. Even though she nodded, she could feel the color drain from her face. Sansa didn't have exactly have the best luck with queens, and who was to say this one would be any different?

Tyrion must have noticed her discomfort because a moment later one of his warm hands was cupping her cheek and the other hand had moved to clasp her own gently. "You have nothing to worry about, Sansa," he whispered emphatically.

Looking down at their entwined hands, Sansa though how odd it was that she came to tolerate his touch so quickly. She had spent more time on the road with Sandor and yet she recoiled every time he even got too close to her. Perhaps it was because he was too wild and unpredictable, whereas she trusted that Tyrion would not push her too far. She realized too that she didn't simply tolerate Tyrion's touch, but she enjoyed it. His presence calmed and leveled her, and his hands seemed to double this effect.

Now picking her head up to look into his eyes, she freed one of her hands and brought it up to cover his hand on her cheek. Her actions spoke what her words could not: that she trusted she would be fine as long as he was there. The left corner of his mouth twitched upwards and Sansa knew he understood her perfectly. Even if he went on talking as though her trust didn't affect him so much at all, she could tell that he was concealing his true satisfaction at her faith in him.

Later that morning, Sansa met the girl who was to be her permanent handmaid; a young girl with chestnut curls and wide eyes the color of chocolate. Her name was Emylee and though she was only three years Sansa's junior, the girl had an unassuming way about her that reminded Sansa too much of her own youth.

Still, Emylee was efficient and jovial. She made for good enough company when Tyrion was busy and never overstepped her boundaries with Sansa. After a few days, Sansa decided she liked the girl. In addition, Emylee needed little direction, so Sansa's difficulties with speech were not an issue between them. During the day, Sansa would do some sewing to occupy her time and invited the handmaid to sit with her. The girl was good at making conversation and she gossiped delightfully about the things she'd heard in the servant's quarters. It made her wonder if Tyrion has purposefully sought out a friendly maid to amuse Sansa during the day.

It struck Sansa as peculiar that she looked so forward to the time of day when Tyrion would come back from his solar and sup with her as she was once bent on avoiding the man. During their dinner, he would tell her the tale of what happened to him when he went away. They were a good way through now, and it was a tale so strange that Sansa wondered that it hadn't been fabricated. She knew as he spoke that his words were truth even though each turn in his tale was stranger than the last. Sansa's own tale was strange as well and certainly some people would doubt its validity.

Best not to think of that though, Sansa berated herself, for those thoughts made her chest ache and made breathing difficult. Though she tried to hide her distress, it must have been evident because Emylee stepped forward and asked, "Shall I fetch Lord Lannister?"

But Sansa gripped the back of a nearby chair until her knuckles were white and focused on her breathing. Waving off her handmaid to let her know she was fine, Sansa fought for control over herself. Tyrion had discovered a trick of speaking simple truths that were applicable to her present and Sansa tried this now in her mind. The focus on simple fact seemed to push away the overwhelming memories.

Today was the sixth day since she returned to her husband. The first few of her new dresses had been delivered. Tyrion would be back in little over an hour for dinner and he would finish his tale tonight. Then she turned her thoughts to the recent memories of him retelling his story and to how animated a storyteller he was. She bade herself remember the calming feeling of his hands and the soothing tones of his voice. Eventually her breathing steadied and Sansa stood upright and gave a cautious smile to her handmaid.

With a brief nod, Emylee asked, "Would you like me to help you dress for dinner?"

They proceeded to prepare for dinner then, and Sansa wondered why the girl thought she needed an entire hour to get ready. Up until now, Sansa had done little beside wash her face and fix the single plait in her hair. But tonight, Emylee spent a good deal of time combing and twisting the long red locks of Sansa's hair. Only after they began, did Sansa realize that the girl had sat her facing away from the mirror so that she couldn't see the braiding until it was all done. When at last her hair was done, Emylee circled around to put some color on Sansa's cheeks and lips. At first Sansa began to protest, but the handmaid furrowed her brow and chided, "Don't complain now! A lady should always do her best to look the part, even if the only one seeing her is her husband. Besides, you have something to wear now besides that dreadful shift!"

Something from her teaching from Septa Mordane came back, and Sansa realized that the maid was right even though Tyrion never seemed to mind if she made herself elegant or not. Petyr had expected her to look exceptional every moment of the day, and she had gotten quite tired of acting parts for him. As soon as her thoughts turned to that vile man, she hardened her resolve and turned them away. Tyrion wouldn't expect her to look so put together tonight, so perhaps he would be surprised as well.

The dress Emylee picked out for her was a golden hue that shimmered even in the dim candlelight of her bedchamber. Sansa was about to protest, the dress was too fancy, but the maid gave her a look that meant she knew what she was doing. With a sigh, Sansa allowed herself to be dressed and laced up into the gown and then slipped on a pair of matching colored slippers.

Now that she was finally dressed, Sansa was led to a mirror and was immediately stunned by what she saw. Truthfully she hadn't given much thought to her own appearance in weeks. Her womanly body was accentuated by the clingy gold fabric. The scooped cut of the dress highlighted her delicate neck without dipping too low to show off her bosom. It was a modest dress in cut, though it suited her nicely. The red hair atop her head was woven in many thin braids that crisscrossed over one another to weave themselves into one thick braid. This braid was fastened with ribbon matching the color of her dress just at her shoulder. From this ribbon, the rest of her hair tumbled free in waves down to her waist.

For a moment Sansa was convinced that it was her mother standing in the mirror, for certainly Sansa herself had never looked so grown. But as strange as the face seemed to Sansa, she knew it was her own changed by time and experience. It wasn't the same face as the frightened girl who fled from King's Landing years ago, and it wasn't even the face of the girl pretending to be a bastard in the Vale. She hadn't paid attention to her looks on the long flight from Winterfell, but Sansa was almost certain that she looked different even then. When she looked at herself in the mirror now, she realized that this woman was more capable than she ever before imagined, no longer living under the threat of Petyr or Joffrey or Cersei. She was sure too, that this was the most put together she'd looked in some time.

It had taken them nearly the entire hour to get Sansa ready, so she walked into the sitting room scarcely a minute before Tyrion himself. "Good evening, San-" he began but stopped abruptly at the sight of her. For a long moment, he said nothing, merely stood taking in the sight of her with wonder and appreciation in his eyes. When Petyr and Harry had looked at her it was with a hunger as though they would devour her on the spot. By the time Sandor found her in such a wrecked state, his hard eyes looked at her only with pity. But now, Tyrion looked at her with such admiration that it made her blush.

He moved near her to take her hand and bring it to his lips before whispering, "My Lady."

Sansa was glad for the modest neckline of her dress because she was certain that her blush had deepened so much that even the tops of her breast would appear crimson. Her words still escaped her, so Sansa dipped a polite curtsey and smiled softly. She did not take her hand away from her husband, but let him lead her to her seat.

As she was dressed the part of a lady, her husband perfectly played the part of the gentleman leading her to her chair, helping her to sit. Several times he touched her arm, her elbow, her shoulder, and Sansa didn't mind at all. It felt different from the many times that she had been lead to a seat before and immediately Sansa realized that the difference was in the way Tyrion regarded and treated her. For years she had been treated like a prize and a pawn, but Tyrion treated her like a person. He tried to ensure her comfort and hoped that her wishes were met. His regard was for her not for some political piece- even though she had heard Petyr rant about him enough times to know that Tyrion had a shrewd political mind.

Thinking about it now, Sansa wondered if she held much political significance at all anymore. Certainly she held some value as a hostage when her brother was acting in rebellion- though not as much as a male would have held. When her brother was murdered and her other siblings presumed dead, she was important because a husband could inherit her land in her name. But now with the war at an end and brother to claim Winterfell, all her marriage meant was peace between houses and lands. Certainly the Northern lords would scramble to gain her hand to become more prominent than the other minor lords around them, but Tyrion's holding were vast and wealthier than her own family's whose castle was currently in ruin. She supposed she was heir to Winterfell after Rickon, but that meant more in war and winter than it did in a peaceful spring. A few years down the road, Rickon would marry and produce his own heirs. Though the alliance between Stark and Lannister was important to ensure peace between their families, Tyrion didn't personally stand to gain from their union. The thought endeared him to her almost instantly.

"My dear," she heard him say causing her curiously to blush once more, "You are so lovely to behold this even that I can scarcely look away from you, and yet you are miles away from here it would seem."

Giving him a sincere apologetic smile that she hoped was reassuring, Sansa reached across the table and touched the back of his hand. She allowed her fingers to linger there and after a moment Tyrion turned his hand over so that he might take her hand in his own. But rather than lace their fingers and press their palms together, Sansa delicately traced over the surface of his square palms and his stout fingers, taking her time to follow every line and wander over every scar. How strange to think that she'd come to depend so much on this particular man to help her feel grounded and connected to the world.

The thought caused her to blush once more, and Sansa looked away from their hands. For once she was glad that she didn't have words or certain she would blurt out every one of these foolish thoughts in a most unladylike manner.

Tyrion had remained silent whilst she mused during dinner, so now that they were nearly done he shifted their fingers so that he was holding her hand. "Come," he said, "I promised you the end of a story tonight, so lets move to the settee by the window where I am sure you will be more comfortable." As she stood to follow him, he added with a slight smirk, "Besides, I have a feeling that you will look even prettier basked in moonlight."

Sansa gave up on trying to hide her blush and she noted that Tyrion seemed pleased with himself for causing her to react in such a manner. A strange feeling welled up inside her and it took her a moment to recognize it as playfulness. Had she not been tongue-tied, she would have been inclined to tease him. It had been a long time since she'd felt comfortable enough with anyone to tease. Instead she smiled and squeezed his hand. He gave her a knowing look before squeezing her hand in turn and then gesturing her to sit down.

As she sat listening to the end of Tyrion's tale, Sansa leaned against the back of the chair and realized she was relaxed. Maybe she'd only been here a week, but she truly believed that it might all be over. All the running and hiding, the ploys and the threats, were all behind her. Certainly there would still be the regular political games, but the people who wished to overhaul the kingdom had been dealt with in one way or another. It no longer felt like every day was a fight for her life. She found that she enjoyed being here, like this.

As his story ended, she stifled a yawn and whispered, "Tyrion."

At first she couldn't understand why he was looking at her so peculiarly, and then she realized that she's spoken aloud. She had no reason for why other than the fact that she was feeling more herself than she had in a long while.

Tyrion, for his part, seemed almost afraid to move or speak least he somehow undo it. But he did turn, slowly, and took Sansa's hands in his own and nodded encouragingly.

After all the emphasis one word had gotten, Sansa found herself slightly embarrassed by what she intended to say. "I'm tired," she stated softly in a voice slightly strained with disuse.

For a moment, they stared at each other. Then the corner of his lip twitched and her shoulders shook ever so slightly. Before they knew it they were both laughing softly. Tyrion stood and pulled her to her feet. "Come on then," he said.

After that, it became easier to speak. She was by no means loquacious, but she was able to give simple instructions and explain if she had need of anything. Many of her practiced courtesies still stuck in her throat when she tried to make use of them.

A couple days later, when Tyrion had come in she tried to greet him as "My Lord Husband," but tripped over the words in an embarrassing, stuttering, manner. Displeased with herself, Sansa cast her eyes downward and knotted her fingers together.

Sensing her distress, Tyrion walked over to where she was sitting and softly covered her hands with his own. "It's alright, Sansa," he told her gently, "You don't need to trouble yourself with such words for me." Then he leaned a little closer and said with a teasing edge to his voice, "I think I prefer no words to hearing, 'my lord husband' at every turn."

As Sansa looked up into his eyes, just above the scar where his nose should have been, she felt the corner of her lip twitch up appreciatively. He was right. When the two had first been married, Sansa distanced herself from him with all the polite words she could. Something had changed though, and she had come to rely on him. There was no more need to distance herself or to look for scripted words from part of her mind that seemed to still be buried under the thick blanket of winter snow.

With delicate fingers, Sansa reached up to brush a lock of nearly white hair back from her husband's thick forehead and tried to address him again, but in a different manner. "Hello Tyrion," she whispered slowly before trying to add a pleasantry about the day and failing. In the end she added, "It is good to see you," which came to her easier making her realize it was because the words were a simple truth and not a rehearsed nicety.

Tyrion, for his part, was blissfully patient with her and had not interrupted once in the long moments she fumbled over word after word. In fact when she were done speaking, he returned the conversation as though the discourse had been smooth and evenly delivered. "It is always a joy returning to you, my lady," he said suavely, though Sansa paused to wonder if this could be true.

Her current situation was quite difficult as she fluctuated somewhere between capable and invalid. Some days she took care of herself well even if she spoke little, but other days she was bogged down betwixt nightmare and memory haunted by a past she couldn't quite remember. At the very best, tending to her must have been frustrating and at the worst it would have been extremely demanding with little reward. Thinking of this she spoke, again not as easily as she wished, "You... flatter... my l-lord."

With a smile that Sansa had gotten used to even if it had made her uncomfortable at first, Tyrion shook his head and noted, "It is no more than truth, Lady." The weight of words left yet unsaid filled the room and Sansa was certain there was more on her husband's mind that he didn't say for fear it would frighten her away.

At one point, it might have, but Sansa had changed. She couldn't quite say how or when- that part was still locked away from her- but she knew that she had been much changed by what had happened.

In the weeks before coming back to King's Landing and the weeks since, Sansa hadn't had much interaction with others, but it was enough to show her that others didn't mark the more subtle changes in her. The fact that she didn't speak and was prone to being absent minded was observed by many, but this only caused them to treat her more like a little girl.

Somehow Tyrion, with his strangely mismatched eyes, could see clearer than the others. He looked at her and knew she changed as a person beyond her current predicament. Perhaps her return to him was enough that he could see this when others couldn't. Then Sansa reminded herself that Tyrion didn't possess some of the qualities men usually used to get by on, such as charm or strength; it was his intellect and power of observation that gave him an edge over others.

Odd, Sansa considered, that she didn't think of this first. In fact his physical differences hardly came to her mind these days- they certainly didn't repel her as they had when she was a youth with a head full of songs. Over the weeks they'd spent together, Sansa had come to view him as being defined by more than just his limitations. Looking at him now, she didn't even object to his visage.

On their wedding night she had considered him the ugliest man in the world, yet now his countenance held a strange sense of familiarity that put her at ease. His green and black eyes didn't look cold to her, but sympathetic; his hands didn't look demanding, but comforting; and his smiles were no longer frightening, but reassuring. The thought caused Sansa to smile slightly before she allowed him to lead her to the table for dinner.

As they sat down, Sansa wondered if her changed view of him was a natural process from having spent so much time with him these last weeks. The night they were wed, Tyrion spoke to her as if she'd come to view him differently and she swore she would never change her opinion of him. Would she have, if she'd never left? The more she had come to rely on Tyrion, the more guilt she felt over having left him. But when she wondered if leaving him was what gave her enough experience to appreciate him truly, she wondered if it hadn't worked out for the best. Had she not left, and not learned a great deal of things from Petyr, she certainly would have been continually used by people in King's Landing. Perhaps, she and Tyrion would have met a terrible end without ever having come to the realization that they could be friends.

"You've grown quiet, my dear," Tyrion mused interrupting her thoughts.

With a smile Sansa returned, "I seem to have developed a habit of thinking."

Faking a shocked gasp Tyrion quipped, "You couldn't have grown fond of something safer, like hunting or sword play?"

Amused, Sansa Smiled at him and noted the warmth that seeped into his eyes before he spoke, "You have a lovely smile, Sansa. I never thought I'd be the one to cause it."

With a deep blush, Sansa attempted to find words that wouldn't come, but Tyrion understood her well enough not to push her. The meal was ended and he had moved around the table to help her stand. After he took her hands and helped her stand before him, an impulse seized Sansa and she leaned down to place a soft kiss on cheek.

It was Tyrion now who seemed at a loss for words and while he fumbled to find something of consequence to say, a small giggle rose up inside of Sansa. Hearing the noise she made at his expense, her husband glared at her with a slightly playful glint to his eyes. "Come," he implored her, "let's get you to that handmaiden of yours and get you ready for bed."

A warmth spread through Sansa's core and caused her to stiffen slightly realizing the way his words affected her, and also realizing that the idea didn't frighten her nearly as much as it should.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Hope you are liking it so far! There will be two chapters left (or one longer chapter if I can't figure a good place to split them... and yes we will find out what happened that addled her so much.) Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks again for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 3

The week wore on and Sansa became increasingly nervous about the upcoming visit with the Queen. Both Emylee and Tyrion seemed to sense her distress and reacted accordingly. Even if Sansa wasn't feeling up to visiting the sewing room with the other ladies, the handmaid suggested she practice her skills so she might be ready soon. Thus occupied, Sansa's days were easier to bear. By night, her husband distracted her with stories and tales that he had learned on his journey. Still, she was on edge and it made her more prone to the fog that tried sometimes to overtake her brain.

One afternoon just a few days before the impending visit, Tyrion looked up from his desk to peek through the door of the adjacent room. That morning, he'd left Sansa sitting on a bench at the window sewing. With a sigh he noted that she was in the same exact position she'd been when he left her, the needle still held in her hand poised above the fabric unmoving. The servant girl wasn't around much that day as it was washing day and she was otherwise engaged. Left to her own devices, Sansa had fallen into a trance like state. The most accurate description he had been able to glean from her was that "time got away" from her occasionally. For Sansa it had likely only felt a moment since she sat down.

Deciding that his wife needed more attention than his correspondences, Tyrion stood , stretched, and headed over to the window. From what he could tell, aside form her coherent state, Sansa still feel into two other conditions. The first condition he had begun referring to in his mind as a fit. She became completely overwhelmed by some thought or idea- though what he couldn't say- and she began to shake and have difficulty breathing. Once her voice had returned, she'd begun to mumble at these times, but too often it was unintelligible. He had only ever been able to make out a word or two, and they provided no real insight into her mind.

The other unnatural condition was one of complete stillness and what he assumed was detailed introspection. He had noticed her ability to be so perfectly still weeks ago and reasoned it was why the healers called her unresponsive. Later on, he realized that a state of stillness often preceded a fit and so he concluded that while she was still, she was thinking. Not all of her silences ended in fits, so Tyrion was hopeful that he could bring her back to herself without a fit happening.

When he reached her, he called her name several times with no change before he reached out and took her hand in his. Rubbing the back of her hand, Tyrion left off calling her and decided to tell her a story. Hopefully the touch combined with the near constant noise would rouse her soon. Eventually, he felt a light pressure on his hand as Sansa's fingers began to flex again. "Welcome back," he grinned when her eyes became focused on his face.

Blinking a few times before she spoke, Sansa blushed and whispered, "Sorry I was..."

"Lost in a thought?" Tyrion provided.

His wife simply nodded. Tyrion wondered what she could be thinking of, but decided that asking her for details would not give him a favorable result. From experience, he knew that asking her about the thought she was lost in would end only with a frustrated attempt at a speech that wouldn't come. The same thing happened if he asked her where she had been in the years she was lost. A strange thought came to his mind just then, and he decided to test it. "Sansa," she looked at him then, her wide blue eyes so sad they appeared almost gray. Still holding her hand he continued, "You seem so sad, my lady. Perhaps it might cheer you up to talk of happier times."

Her brow furrowed a bit showing her confusion. With all the tales Tyrion had told her of his past, he'd never asked her to share her own. "Some of my fondest memories happened at the Rock," he explained encouragingly, "I figured you have your own memories of Winterfell that are dear to you."

He was right of course. Sansa had a wealth of good memories from her childhood tucked away in her heart where no one could taint them. For years she'd held them to herself never giving them up to Joffery or Petyr or even to Sandor-though he'd been surprisingly gentle on their trip from Winterfell. Now here husband sat before her looking at her so sincerely asking her to share these things. Uncertainty flashed behind her icy eyes, and she chewed her bottom lip for a moment forgetting her lady-like manners.

"If it helps ease your mind," Tyrion explained softly, "In the aftermath of the recent wars, your father and brother are no longer being considered traitors. They opposed the passage of the crown to an unlawful King and your littlest brother restored the Queen's Peace. No one is out to get your family anymore." Tyrion smiled softly hoping to reassure her. Things had changed since they'd last been in King's Landing. Sansa's family was heralded as heroes-the first in an uprising to restore the rightful monarch- and Tyrion's family had been properly vilified.

In truth it had been a lot more complicated than that. Daenerys had wanted revenge against the men she viewed as being responsible for her exile, but Tyrion and Ser Barriston had been able to convince her that clearing the Stark's name would win her the alliance of the Northern lords. Though, Tyrion suspected it was the meeting she had with Ned's supposed bastard son that convinced her most. Normally, Tyrion would have been loathe against the fickle heart of a woman being swayed by a charming smile, but in this case it aided his own ends. And he had to admit that one of Daenerys's biggest grievances were children being judged for the crimes of their parents'-though the Queen would have no love of Ned Stark, she admitted his children had nothing to do with her expulsion from Westeros. The Lannisters and Baratheons-along with some other schemers- had received most of the blame for the upset in the realm, which suited Tyrion just fine. In fact, Tyrion felt as if he could breathe a little easier without the rest of his family around.

Giving a slow nod after much thought, Sansa took a deep breath. "Well, I..." and then the words came pouring out. "Things were never lonely in Winterfell. Every time I turned around someone was there, either needing my help or getting in the way." A small chuckle escaped her lips. "I suppose I was a little annoyed by it at the time. They were all so _wild! _ Even Arya!"

Tyrion interrupted momentarily asking, "_Especially_ Arya?" to which Sansa nodded.

Sansa continued, "When I was little I thought it so improper! They were always fighting and playing tricks. Jon scared the life out of my in the crypts once. He covered himself in flour and waited in the dark to jump out at us!"

This had Tyrion in stitches and when he gained control of himself he asked, "And you, my Lady? Were you not the least bit wild yourself? Did you not seek retribution against your brother?"

"Me?" she asked innocently, "Not in the least. Though, I did convince Arya to catch some frogs and hide them in the boys' bed after that." She giggled at the memory and Tyrion soon realized that while Sansa wasn't prone to being wild herself, she had encouraged a bit of misbehavior in her siblings. It was refreshing to hear that his prim and proper wife had a bit of that wild northern spirit in her.

Once Sansa began telling her husband about her childhood, the words began to come easier. Before she knew it, the sun was dipping low in the sky. "Oh!" Sansa exclaimed as her eyes ventured out the window. "I've kept you from your work, my Lord!"

Tyrion's eyes were bright as he looked at his young wife. He'd appreciated her beauty when he first met her and had known there was steel in her nerves for surviving what she had in King's Landing. This was renewed when she returned to him from the wild, shaken and barely herself. As off as she had been, she had great will to survive. But this was the first time he felt that he were truly getting to know his wife and not the polite facade she wore for the nobles and the court. "Nonsense," he argues with a wave of his hand, "There is nothing in that room that was more important than listening to you today, my dear." Tyrion noted the color rise in his wife's cheeks at the endearment, and it caused him to smirk slightly.

For her part, Sansa couldn't understand why Tyrion using such a name for her would cause any reaction. Calling her Sansa again and again must grow tedious, she reasoned, and Tyrion was very clear that he's rather they address each other familiarly than constantly using titles. She'd gotten used to that easily enough this time around, but every time he shifted from her name to use something more sentimental, she felt flustered. Plenty of men had used pet names for her in the past; it made no sense that such a thing would excite her now. After a moment, when she was certain the flush had left her cheeks, she responded more formally with, "You are kind to say so." Her voice lingered as if she perhaps meant to add a similar endearment to him, but she left it off.

As much as she'd grown to trust her husband, there was still some hesitancy between them. It had taken her some time to get used to his given name; she was not yet ready to address him even less formally. She sensed a similar hesitancy in Tyrion as well-as if he were constantly holding himself back- and she didn't quite know if she was glad of it or if it bothered her.

There were moments when she looked into her husband's eyes and she was certain he wanted to hold her and touch her. And not in the simple way one might touch a dear friend- on the hands for instance, or touching a lock of her hair the way he did when she was upset. Tyrion wanted to touch her as a lover might- as a husband might- and yet he refrained from doing so. Whether he was afraid to frighten her off or afraid to worsen her condition, Sansa wasn't certain, but she _did _know that it was at least out of concern for her. Perhaps the offense she paid him on their wedding night still lingered between them.

It had surprised Sansa at first that she didn't mind Tyrion's friendly and reassuring touches. She even enjoyed when he held her- though he only ever did that when she was overcome with her thoughts. For a wicked moment, Sansa wondered if she could fake such an episode just to see how it felt the moment he put his arms around her, rather than coming-to in his embrace. She remembered him being surprisingly strong and still gentle. Of course the thought caused her blush to renew and though Tyrion had not yet returned the conversation. Seeing her distress, he spoke now.

"Is everything all right, Sansa?" His words were accompanied by a twitching of his hand and she was certain then that he did want to move to touch her- perhaps on her overly rosy cheek.

Letting a smile play about her lips, Sansa whispered coyly, "I would be much better if my Lord sat a little closer. Though spring is upon us, the evening air has not yet lost its bite."

It seemed Sansa's face wasn't the only one with a habit of changing colors, though her husbands face paled as if he were shocked. It took him a good moment- and Sansa shifting her position to be more accommodating- for him to speak. "As my Lady commands."

Sansa observed that they were more apt to address each other overly formally when they were treading in that uncertain space between them. At this rate the first time they joined as husband and wife would sound formal enough to be mistaken for polite conversation! The idea caused a giggle to rise in her, but it died suddenly before it reached her lips when she realized she had just considered their joining as eventual rather than a vague possibility. More shock washed over her when she realized that it wasn't a wifely duty that made her think of it, but a general affection for the man who had taken care of her. It sent a shiver down her spine to realize her opinions had begun to change without even her noticing.

Mistaking the shiver for a chill, Tyrion remarked, "Indeed, it seems my lady is very cold. How strange for a wolf of the North to be so affected by the evening chill."

He was teasing her, Sansa knew, so she quipped back, "Well in the North we dress accordingly to keep us warm. Here in the South, without such warm clothing, I am afraid I will need something else to keep me warm."

When the words were out of her mouth, she realized how they might be taken. Tyrion it too seemed to catch the multiple interpretations for he struggled with the words he chose next. "Perhaps I will ask the servants for a nice spiced wine then, to warm you up."

Nodding Sansa tried to figure out if she was relieved or disappointed that he chose the safer interpretation. "Tyrion," she said a little abruptly causing him to look at her quickly. "I wanted to thank you," she went on, "for today. It was nice to speak of Winterfell."

With a gentle smile despite the harshness of his features, Tyrion nodded, "It was nice to hear of it, though I do confess I had an alterative motive when I asked you."

All her more amorous thoughts immediately gave way to confusion and intrigue. "Did you?"

"Yes," he admitted, "I wanted to test a theory." Instead of speaking, Sansa waited for an explanation and was not disappointed. "I have noticed that you have little trouble speaking of the present or the days that have recently past. But the moment I ask about the time since you left King's Landing, you have more trouble speaking than an infant. I began to suspect that you were not able to draw on your past at all. I asked you for memories from your childhood to attempt to disprove this idea."

"I suppose I have caused you to retract your theory then," Sansa supplied.

"Not at all," Tyrion countered with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I have simply revised it. I now suspect that your memory works as well as ever. It is something else getting in the way of your speech, and I do not believe that something can be nice. It leaves me in a tough position."

"Why is that?" Sansa asked unbidden.

Tyrion turned to look at her more closely as he said, "Because I am torn between not wanting to cause you any more distress and needing to know who has caused you so much pain so that I can see them off accordingly." There was a fierceness in his face and his voice that made him seem as formidable as the strongest warrior despite his small stature.

Though she was sure it was not his intention, the words brought a rush of memories to her and her chest began to tighten. As her mind worked overtime, something red flashed before her eyes and the floor attempted to rush up and greet her again, but a pair of strong hands stopped her from meeting it. "Sansa," her husband whispered over and over, "Sansa, Sansa."

Eventually the fog began to clear, and she again became aware of Tyrion's arms around her and the gentle rocking of their bodies. She hadn't been away long this time, only a moment or so if she gauged it correctly. Righting herself, Sansa took her husband's hands in her own shaking palms. "Do not trouble to correct my past, Tyrion. I do not need that."

Tyrion himself was looking a little distressed, as if he had hoped he could vanquish her demons by bringing to justice whoever had harmed her. "What do you need, Sansa?" he asked with a troubled note in his voice and Sansa knew he felt helpless to her plight.

The answer surprised her, but the moment it left her lips she was certain of the truth of it. "You, my lord." A look of shock registered on Tyrion's face, but he didn't interrupt. "I feel more myself with you than I have in a long time. You make me forget who I was pretending to be and help me remember who I am. I do not need the past, Tyrion. What I need is to share the here and now with you."

It was possibly, no definitely, the most revealing thing she had ever said to him, but she found that in saying it a lot of her own doubts had disappeared. Tyrion struggled to process everything she had just said and Sansa watched his mouth open and shut a few times before she decided to take away his need to fill the silence with words.

Gracefully, Sansa moved so that her face was close enough to her husband's to press her lips softly against his. The kiss was brief- a mere brushing of her lips over his- and she realized all at once that this was too quick. Trying again, Sansa lowered her lips to his for perhaps a second longer before pulling slowly back, but this didn't satisfy the rush of feeling welling up within her. Deciding to try for a third time, Sansa pushed forward to connect her mouth once more to Tyrion's.

Perhaps he had been too shocked at first to realize what was happening, or perhaps he though himself dreaming, but when her lips touched his a third time and lingered, he was suddenly able to move. He kissed her back ardently with the force of all the kisses he had wanted to give her already. His arms had wound their way around her trying to pull her body closer to feel her against him.

Once Tyrion began kissing her back, Sansa was sure it would calm that feeling within her, but instead she found it was more like fanning the flames of a fire. His kisses only encouraged this unfamiliar thing within her and caused her to move her mouth more enjoying the feeling of his lips as they slid over her own. His hand encouraged her to move closer and she found that she did it gladly. There was no sense of shame or wrongness in this kiss as there had been in all the kisses she'd had previously. Sansa put her whole self into kissing Tyrion. It was easy to do as she wasn't currently pretending to be someone else or pretending to want something other than what she wanted. The last time she could remember being so true to herself she had been but a scrawny little girl with knobby knees and a figure as straight as a board.

Tyrion's lips pressed insistently against hers and Sansa responded by parting her own lips. It came as a little bit of a shock when his tongue slid easily into her mouth, and more of a surprise when it ran along her own and caused a wonderful sensation at the base of her spine. Her toes curled in her slippers and she pressed against him while her hands snaking their way behind his head to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

As the kiss went on, Tyrion must have become more confident since his hand slipped from her back to her waist before inching slowly upward toward her breasts. His touch was so hesitant and gentle that Sansa smiled into their kiss and let him explore further.

In her experience, when a man wanted to touch her breasts he simply grabbed them as if they belonged to him, but Tyrion's touch was so fleeting that she almost wondered if she imagined his thumb ghosting over her nipple through her bodice. She sighed into the kiss and arched her back into his touch, pressing her breast fully into his palm. He became more certain then and began to touch her in earnest.

They would have continued in this vein had Emylee not come into the room with a call of, "Lady Lannister, do you need my help to prepare for dinner?" Sansa and Tyrion pulled apart. They hadn't locked the door and thus hadn't prevented the interruption. "Oh," Emylee blushed, "I, uh, I'll come back later m'lady."

A little too pink to speak, Sansa merely nodded at the girl before she caught her husband's eye. He smiled at her slowly and said, "I think you look lovely as ever, my lady. I doubt you need refreshing tonight. Shall we continue to our dinner?"

"Yes, please," she agreed taking his hand readily, his firm grasp helping ground her.

Later, when they retired to their bedroom for the evening Sansa was a bundle of nerves. Tyrion had given her time alone to prepare for bed as was his custom. The whole time Emylee spent combing Sansa's hair, the red head worried her fingers together apprehensively.

Earlier had been nice and she had found kissing Tyrion rather enjoyable; she was however nervous that since she submitted to him once that he would expect her to submit to him completely. These days she could acknowledge that she would be prepared to do that eventually, but it was a bit much all in one evening.

After Emylee left her, Sansa couldn't decide whether to lay down in bed or wait around for Tyrion. What would he expect her to do?

She didn't have long to fret as her husband came in just then. She turned to him with her hands clasped in front of her and realized that she didn't know whether her nerves were due to anticipation or worry. He had learned to read her well though, and approached her cautiously before asking if she wanted a glass of wine to ease her spirits.

"No thank you, my Lord," she said and knew that he'd understand from her words that she was uneasy so she added, "I am already tired."

"Shall we then?" he offered. Casting nervous eyes to the bed, Sansa nodded and followed, which caused her husband to laugh. "I'm not going to gobble you up, Sansa."

First she blushed, and then she huffed even though she was glad for him making light of the situation. "I know that," she insisted, "I just didn't know what we would do."

"We will sleep," Tyrion informed her.

"Just sleep?" Sansa repeated quizzically.

By now Tyrion had lain back against the pillow with his hands behind his head. "Unless you have something else in mind."

"I..." Sansa started but left off quickly. How had he turned this around on her?

Seeing that she was too flustered to speak, Tyrion piped up, "Come here, Sansa."

Obediently, and with more grace than she felt, Sansa slid over to her husband so that she was facing him on the bed. He lifted a hand gently to her cheek. "I told you once, my lady, that I would not touch you until you wanted me to. Perhaps I should add that I meant also _when _you wanted me to. One kiss does not mean you are read for all the activities of the marriage bed. When you are, I will be more than happy to oblige you, but until then we will only do what you are prepared to do. Also, if there is ever a time that you don't want to for whatever reason, we will refrain until you do."

"Truly?" Sansa asked knowing that in most Westrosi marriages women had little say in when the couplings took place.

Nodding, he assured her, "Always."

With a smile, Sansa whispered her thanks while her mind returned to the Vale where men viewed her as little more than a possession. If they had wanted kisses, they took them and whatever else they desired. It was a miracle she'd escaped intact. "Sansa, Sansa! Stay with me, Sansa."

Her eyes focused and she realized that Tyrion was sitting up now and holding her face with both hands looking rather concerned. "Sorry," she muttered blinking a few times. "I just..."

"I know," he agreed gently.

"Tyrion," she requested her voice clear even if a little higher pitched than usual, "I want you to kiss me."

"That I will do most gladly, my Lady," he grinned mischievously as he guided her face toward his. It was a nice kiss, slower than their first and less awkward. At length, Sansa leaned into Tyrion and he pulled her into him so that she was lying across his chest.

Through the silk of her shift, Sansa could feel Tyrion much more easily than she could through her dress earlier, and when he touched her through the flimsy material Sansa felt her body respond favorably. Curiously, Sansa moved one of her legs in between Tyrion's shorter legs until the bulk of his manhood was pressed against her hip. It wasn't the first time she felt a man's hardness against her, but it was the first time she sought it out. This time she found that having him pressed into her created a curious sensation in her belly that shot down into her most intimate places.

When Tyrion's leg slipped between hers and found it's way up to touch that very place, Sansa gasped. Immediately, Tyrion pulled back. "No," Sansa complained, "I don't mean... Don't stop, please."

Slowly Tyrion began to kiss her lips once more before trailing down over her jaw and eventually to her neck. Rather enjoying the sensation, Sansa gave a slight moan and tangled her fingers in Tyrion's hair. The shoulder of her shift began to slip under Tyrion's ministrations and Sansa closed her eyes as Tyrion's lips moved over the newly exposed skin. Just as she began to wonder what it would feel like if his lips traveled lower to her breasts, Tyrion's kissed moved upward again to her neck and continued until they found her lips once more, Sansa kissing him eagerly. They carried on for some time until Tyrion pulled away slightly and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Best get some sleep, my dear. We have only a few days before we must meet with the Queen."

After nodding, Sansa was about to push herself over to her side of the bed, but then thought better of it. Instead, she rested her head upon Tyrion's shoulder and wrapped one slender arm about his waist. As soon as she settled in, she felt Tyrion's lips upon her forehead. "Good night, my Lady," he crooned softly.

"Good night, Tyrion," she echoed. That night Sansa fell asleep in her husband's arms while his blunt fingers traced soft circles on her shoulder. Sleep came quickly and was blissfully deep.

The days leading up to the meeting with the queen pasted all too quickly and in a sort of hazy blur. She spent as much of her time with both Emylee and Tyrion practicing her conversation, trying to catch up on the courtly affairs, and remembering who was in favor and who was not. In the end, she never felt ready and yet the day still came when she would meet the queen.

Her nerves woke her early that morning and even after a warm bath, the cold anticipation in her stomach did not dissipate. When Emylee asked her how she wanted her hair done for the day, Sansa thought a moment and decided that Daenerys was not from King's Landing anymore than she had been- there was no need to wear an elaborate southern style to impress this queen. Sansa decided to wear her hair braided in a more demure northern style- it suited her and reminded her of where she was from.

The dress was a different matter, though. Originally she had planned on wearing a grey and white dress in the colors of her father's house, but when she went to dress, she instead decided on a cloth-of-gold dress. It was odd as the colors of crimson and gold once caused her stomach to churn, but her growing affection for Tyrion had changed her perception slightly. Though her world these days was scarcely larger than their chambers, Sansa recognized that she and Tyrion were the only ones left to carry the name- Jaime had escaped to the free cities with some odd knightly companion and when Cersei realized her games were at an end, she took her own life to deny the new Queen the pleasure. Tommen and Myrcella were permitted to live at Casterly Rock with an aunt of Tyrion's, but their name had been changed from Baratheon to Waters.

Finding out all that was left of Lannister house was her husband, some illegitimate children and a few aunts and cousins that Tyrion assured her was of a goodly disposition, Sansa realized the colors and name no longer haunted her the way they once had. And the gold dress did look quite nice on her. Since the fabric was rather elaborate, Sansa refrained from wearing jewelry or any real adornments. She had no idea what Queen Daenerys wore usually, and it wouldn't do to accidentally dress more lavishly than a queen.

When Tyrion came to collect her for the dinner, he stopped in the doorway with his eyes racking over her and his mouth slightly agape. Her husband recovered quickly and crossed the room to her. "My lady, after weeks of looking upon your fair face, I still find myself completely stunned by your beauty."

Sansa's cheeks reddened as he bent slightly to kiss her hand and with an embarrassed laugh she whispered, "Thank you, My Lord. I hope the same might be true when it has been a few years and not simply a few weeks." Though she merely meant to quip back at him, her words made her realize for the first time that she truly did see herself with Tyrion in years' time. She had come to him because he was safe, and had found an ally and a friend. When she first arrived at King's Landing in the middle of the night, she'd only been able to focus on the present-and barely at that. But already after a few weeks, she could see herself moving forward toward an actual future even though she'd given up on planning a future years ago.

The smile on her husband's face meant that he hadn't missed that she'd referred to their future together as husband and wife. "You will always be the loveliest creature I have ever beheld," he whispered offering her his arm. "Shall we." With a nervous nod, Sansa took the proffered arm and walked stiffly beside him, their flirting had offered only a momentary distraction.

Everyone they passed on the way to the Queen's chambers stopped to watch Tyrion and Sansa go by. Gossip traveled quickly in King's Landing and rumors caught like wildfire. The truth was strange enough, Sansa reasoned, and judging by the set of her husbands shoulders, the rumors had been numerous. Tyrion Lannister's long lost bride returning in the dead of night unable to speak or leave his chambers- what stories they must have come up with to explain her malady! Some of the eyes on her were simply curious, while others looked on with pity. Still, some eyed her warily while a whisper of the word mad seemed to echo off the walls around her.

For a moment, a panic rose within her remembering the shame and ridicule that followed her around the capitol as a child, but then the presence of her husband beside her reassured her. There had certainly been a vast amount of unsavory talk following Tyrion here before the war and yet he had never been afraid to show his face. Lifting her chin, Sansa smiled sweetly and offered courteous greetings. Whatever meek or mad display the onlookers had been expecting was sadly disappointed by the normality of her addresses. Beside her Tyrion smirked as the on-lookers returned her greetings and went back to their own business. When they finally arrived at the Queen's solar, Sansa was feeling a good deal more confident.

As they walked into the once familiar chamber, Sansa realized that she too would have her own expectations thrown off that evening as well. For some reason she had been imagining the Queen Daenerys as tall, fierce and formidable- truthfully she'd been picturing something akin to Cersei with the famed Targaryen coloring. But Queen Daenerys was as far from Cersei as one could possibly get. Though they were not close together, Sansa realized the other woman was at least a head shorter than herself. And while Cersei had been tall and slender, Daenerys's smaller body was as curved as Sansa's own. Though Sansa knew that this Queen had been much affected by hardship in her life, her eyes lacked the bitterness and hatred that had occupied Cersei's. Instead, Daenerys's violet eyes held a curious spark of insight and mischief while a cloying smile danced about her lips.

It was a strange sort of shock to find that the Queen did not look much a conqueror, but Sansa quickly realized that the other woman had been underestimated quite frequently. The one useful thing Petyr had taught her was to read people and so Sansa knew better than to make the same mistake. There was a shrewdness about Daenerys's countenance and Sansa knew that this woman possessed more knowledge that she let on. Aside from that, this Queen was very much a mystery. The queens she'd dealt with in the past always seemed to hold people at an arm's length, yet this one appeared truly fond of those she considered friends.

Tyrion was greeted favorably and he in turn introduced the Queen and Sansa. "Ah, Lady Lannister," Daenerys intoned as one side of her lip quirked up in an amused smirk, "I have long awaited meeting you."

There was something easy and playful in the Queen's demeanor and Sansa realized it was probably easy to forget yourself with the Queen. She absently wondered how many people had forgotten their formalities and found themselves telling the Queen more than they intended. Daenerys might not look the part of a conqueror, but Sansa somehow sensed at least part of how she did it. And even with just so brief a meeting, she could see why people followed her easily. Even Sansa, who was far too inclined to distrust people these days, found herself immediately warming up to the Queen. With a curtsey, Sansa apologized, "I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I fear I was ill and not quite myself. I am still recovering from what has befallen."

With a nod and a wave of her hand Daenerys bid them be seated and to begin eating, "Think nothing of it," she dismissed, "all women are indisposed at times, and for your sake and that of your husband I hope you may be indisposed some months from now as well." The Queen winked at Sansa causing a blush to rise in her cheeks at the Queen's implication. The sight caused the Queen to laugh, "Tyrion, it seems your wife still plays the part of a blushing bride. No doubt you two were quite eager to get reacquainted after such a long time apart."

A glance at Tyrion told Sansa that he was both trying to find something to say that neither offended Sansa and their new trust nor called their union into question in front of the Queen. Saving him the trouble, Sansa reached out and touched his hand and smiled softly. "Indeed, Your Grace, we have become reacquainted and are now met with much merrier circumstances. King's Landing is much changed since my Lord Husband and I parted and it is for the better. We have much to thank you for, Your Grace."

The Queen smiled, evidently finding the answer pleasing. "I am glad to hear it and glad also that you have returned to us. Tyrion sent word out to find you even before we crossed to the capitol and was met everywhere with silence." At this Sansa eyed her husband; she hadn't known he had been looking for her even before she showed up. The Queen continued, "Your return to us was quite miraculous. We are all anxious to know where you could have been hiding so well all this time."

A knot grew in Sansa's stomach as she tried to formulate a response and her mouth became very dry. Her plight must have been evident, because the Queen quirked one elegant brow as Tyrion reached for Sansa's hand.

It was Tyrion's turn to save her from having to speak. "Your Grace, my Lady wife is almost recovered, but it distresses her greatly to think back on this time. From what I have gathered, she cannot speak of it and when she tries to recall it, she is often overtaken by fits."

Sansa tried to control her breathing as it would be quite embarrassing to have an episode in front of the Queen. The other woman looked at her queerly and worried her bottom lip for a moment. "Then perhaps we do not want to hear of it after all," she wondered aloud, "When someone is left with such a deep scar, it is unlikely their circumstances were pleasant."

Nodding, Sansa whispered in response, "Thank you, Your Grace."

The Queen's shrewd violet eyes were solemn while they regarded Sansa once more and she nodded in return. Perhaps to spare her more distress the Queen addressed Tyrion, and the two of them began to talk of more current news in the realm. There were still places where disputes were being settled and vassals whose loyalty Daenerys still considered uncertain at best. Sansa took some time to compose herself and it wasn't until she heard the word "Winterfell" that the conversation received her full attention once more.

"The raven just came in this morning. Only a few days after they arrived-" noting Sansa's interest on the conversation she added, "they left for Winterfell shortly before you turned up here. When they arrived, they sent the masonries and carpenters around to assess the damages and the cost of rebuilding."

Something about this speech made Sansa feel cold, and her breathing became slightly irregular. Tyrion glanced at her worriedly, but the Queen continued without pause. "When they got to the green houses, they found a body! Usually a single dead body in a ruined castle wouldn't cause alarm, but they realized his clothing was very fine- or had been- and so they took lengths to identify the body. It wasn't easy, as a part of his face had been obscured by a spear of some sorts, but eventually they realized who it was."

Sansa's fingers gripped tightly on the arms of her chair even as her husband, intrigued, leaned forward and asked, "Who was it?"

"That missing Lord from the Vale, Littlemember, was it?"

"Littlefinger," Tyrion supplied, as Sansa's vision swam and she struggled to find her next breath. "Petyr Baelish is dead? Are you certain? He is the sort of man who would fake such an ordeal to gain an edge."

The Queen returned, "It is confirmed by people who knew him personally. The strange thing is, no one knows how it happened. He was left alone there, and if anyone else was there with him, they left no sign of it. The death was relatively recent too, only a couple months gone."

"Still, what could Baelish have been doing in Winterfell?" Perhaps the word Winterfell caused them both to look at Sansa because suddenly Tyrion's arms were around her and she could hear him calling her name. Someone must have shrieked, but Sansa couldn't tell who because her vision went dark and images she'd hoped to forget flashed before her eyes at an alarming pace almost before she could even sort them out. Her face was wet and her body shaking, but she was powerless to stop it. The last image stayed the longest, the jagged piece of broken wood and metal sticking straight through the back of his skull and coming out through his eye socket. And the blood, so much blood, dripping from his body covering her clothes and soaking the snow in crimson.

Eventually she became aware of Tyrion's strong arms holding her and stroking her hair and she grabbed at his shirt with two hands and buried her head in his chest. Only when the noise around her became muffled did Sansa realize she was the one shrieking.

When the tremors finally stopped and Tyrion's reassuring words had calmed her a little, Sansa spoke without removing her head from Tyrion's chest. "I did it," she sounded, her voice ringing much clearer than she trusted it to, "I killed Petyr Baelish."

She felt Tyrion stiffen and heard the Queen gasp, and Sansa was suddenly afraid she'd lose them both as allies and wondered how she could even fix any of it. "I- I-" she stammered, "I didn't have a choice."

And before she quite knew what she was doing the whole story began to spill from her lips beginning with Joffrey's treatment of her moving onto Ser Dantos and the Tyrell plot. By the time she spoke of the wedding night and how she discovered Littlefinger was behind it all she had sat up away from Tyrion so he and the Queen could see her and she them. Neither of them made a sound as the words poured out of her. Tyrion had told her his story over several nights with jokes and witticisms, nuances and theatrics. Sansa's story had none of these elements- it simply struggled to get out of her as quickly as it could.

With great pain she told of he Vale and what became of her Aunt Lysa. Tyrion's lips tightened when she mentioned Littlefinger kissing her, but to his credit he said nothing. Her eyes welled up again as she told of Robert and the sweetsleep blaming herself for the child's death even though Petyr claimed it was inevitable. When she told about Harry and Petyr and the way they treated her- demanding much more than she was willing to give- both Tyrion and Daenerys looked uneasy.

They understood that Littlefinger's plan to marry her to Harry was to gain her the Lords of the Vale, and often supplied guesses as to what he's been up to. She mentioned Petyr's plan to wait until the last moment to reveal her identity. It wasn't until news of Tyrion's death- now obviously a false account- reached the Vale that things began to move faster.

First came Harry's accident: an ill placed blow during a practiced bout that left him unable to sire any more children legitimate or otherwise. It nearly caused him to break the marriage agreement until Petyr revealed to him Sansa's true identity. He had sent her away then and she had been glad that Harry wouldn't be able to demand anything more than kisses from her anymore. That was until Petyr told her what he and Harry had planned. They'd kept the result of the injury between themselves and the physician so while Harry would take Sansa as a bride and rule the North in her name as well as the Vale, Petyr would see to it that Sansa's belly began to swell and no one would know of Harry's impairment. The young knight seized the opportunity for power just as Petyr predicted.

Harry was able to walk without a cane by the wedding and Petyr assured him that as soon as they secured Winterfell he'd make sure Sansa was with child. So Sansa was married a second time-to a husband who couldn't consummate the marriage- and was whisked away to Winterfell. Her traveling party was small and set out a few days after the Vale forces lead by Harry.

When Sansa's party arrived, not much was left in Winterfell- even the evidence of the other troops that had come to try and hold the castle were gone. No one was left there to oppose them. Petyr looked at Winterfell with a hungry smile that turned Sansa's insides to ice. His plan was almost complete when one of the scouts ran out holding a dead raven and a note that he'd intercepted on it's way to the Night's Watch. News of Queen Daenerys's arrival was spreading through the land as well as news of those advisors and supporters in her party- Tyrion among them.

The Vale lords were in an uproar. If Sansa's husband wasn't dead, then her marriage to Harry wasn't legitimate. Things began to unravel quickly and Harry- not keen on going up against Lannisters, particularly one on the side of a Dragon Queen- revealed his affliction and the fact that their marriage was never consummated. That was good enough for most of the Vale lords and they packed up to leave right away. The lack of reserve supplies was daunting, and the Vale forces were all too happy to leave the dreaded North. They had found the North not as much to their liking as they'd anticipated. They warned Littlefinger to leave as well, that there was nothing but death in the North, and he'd lost his supporters as well when they found out he- assuming Tyrion lost forever- fabricated the story of his death and paid for false evidence to be sent to Cersei. Rallied behind their true lord Harry, the Vale lords revealed their intention to return home.

But they didn't ignore the fact that Sansa was a wanted criminal. The Vale Lords had started to discuss whether it would be better to turn Sansa over to the Queen now that they knew the marriage was false. It had become evident to them that they'd need to pick a side in the south where the fighting was happening. They reasoned that as the Starks had a hand in overthrowing the Targaryen realm, even the Dragon Queen would be anxious to receive Sansa and exact revenge on those who had wronged the Targaryens. Soon the question turned to which Queen should they should present Sansa to- it had been decided that gifting her would be enough to buy their way onto one of the sides.

This terrified Sansa and crafty Petyr helped her hide and escape the Vale Lords. When the Lords finally gave up the search and retreated, Petyr mused, that they didn't need much the two of them. As he lifted her hair and placed slimy kisses on her neck, he reminded her that he had brought her home and restored her to Winterfell. He demanded that she take him as a husband and claim Winterfell for him- after all, he argued women are prone to falling in love and he'd rescued her more than once. The Northern Lords would hear of her love for him and his protection of her and would flock to their sides to aid the last of the Stark family. Only Sansa didn't love Petyr, she could hardly stand him or his kisses or his hands. And here without his knights to do his dirty work and in her own home, she felt less frightened by him and his motives.

"I'm not sure how it happened," Sansa explained her breathing heavy, "but when he began to lift my skirts I panicked. There was no one left around to see what he'd do. He spun me around to get at my small clothes and his eyes were wild and hungry! He was angry, so angry! Everything he'd worked for was ruined. All he had left was me, and he intended to... " Sansa shook her head back and forth with the effort of keeping her thoughts focused.

"I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I pushed him. He... he didn't expect it. I had been ever obedient before no matter how wretched he was. He stumbled backwards and tripped over a broken beam. I had already turned to run when I heard the sound... It was awful. I didn't want to look, but my body turned around on it's own. He'd fallen on the rest of the beam that was still standing... it... had gone straight through his skull.

"I froze for a long time, not knowing what to do. By the time some sense came too me and I turned and fled, I was covered in his blood. I couldn't stand there one more second. I had to leave. I was at the gate of the castle before I even remembered that I was utterly alone. I thought perhaps if I ran I could catch up with the Vale lords and beg for their mercy."

"But Clegane found your first," Tyrion supplied when she trailed off.

"In a way," Sansa confirmed, "but it was I who came upon him. I was running as fast as I could along the King's Road when I saw them battling. The other man was even bigger than Sandor, and I think they'd been fighting some time because Sandor had several wounds. The other man's helm had been knocked off and he looked more like a corpse than a knight. The flesh was rotting away from his face and he had no eyes, only holes in his skull. The skin that remained on him was a sickly grey color except for around his eyes, which were ringed in black. His face was so marred that I couldn't make anything of it. My mind was already addled and when I saw that monstrous face, I screamed!

"It distracted the beast just long enough for Sandor to swing his blade and sever that ghastly head. I think I fainted then. The next thing I remember was Sandor waking me up and putting me on his horse. After he was certain I wasn't about to die, he took me away from there. At the first town we found he acquired a new dress for me. I think I was a little better after that, with the blood gone. That was when I was able to understand the things he said to me and remember them.

"He told me he was living on an island with brothers devoted to the Seven." Tyrion scoffed and Sansa felt her lips quirk up in recognition, "Well I don't think he himself was particularly devoted, but he said he liked the quiet. Word spread to the island that Cersei had a monstrous man in her employ and Sandor suspected from the description that he knew who it was and tracked him down. Apparently he went by a different name now, but Sandor swore that the man he killed on the King's Road near Winterfell was his brother, even his brother had been reported as dead."

"Cersei had such a knight sworn to her if I am not mistaken," Tyrion mused. "He fought for her in a trial by combat. Ser Robert Strong, they called him. He was a member of the Kingsguard, but he went missing before we came to King's Landing. When the other Kingsguard knights were questioned, no one knew where he was, but more than one said they'd never seen him eat or drink and said he must have gone back to whatever hell he'd been summoned from. Eventually we questioned the man Qyburn and though we got no real answers, he laughed like a mad man and raved about how marvelous Robert Strong was. Qyburn was later put to death when his other experiments came to light."

With a nod Sansa finished her story. "There isn't much more to tell after that. Sandor kept me safe and fed for a while. We moved around quite a bit- people didn't take kindly to the sight of him. I'm not sure how long we travelled... I wasn't very together in those days, but eventually he wanted to take me to my family. I asked to be taken to my husband instead of my brother."

Tyrion gave her a sympathetic look, though his body was still rigid and tense with anger. It made Sansa wonder if she just ruined everything they had built up between them. Would he view her differently knowing she'd killed a man? And she'd been wed to Harry almost as soon of word of Tyrion's death reached the Vale. How angry he must be that she'd cast him aside so quickly! It had been at Petyr's bidding, but would that matter now? She had only just realized what she had in Tyrion, and wasn't ready to lose it.

A noise from the Queen quickly reminded Sansa that she and Tyrion were not alone and she glanced nervously at Daenerys. It soon dawned on her that it was the first time Sansa met the Queen of Westeros and she'd admitted freely to murder and being a plaything for two men that were not her husband. Now that the storytelling was over Sansa suddenly felt sick. Perhaps the small peace she found here was at an end... she was after all guilty. Would she be tried and executed as a murderer after all? When she'd come to King's Landing she hadn't even wondered that as she couldn't think on Petyr's death without getting sick.

When at length the Queen spoke, Sansa could hardly believe her words. "It is a good thing for him you killed him then, because his fate would have been much worse had he stood trial."

Looking up at the Queen through her wet eyelashes Sansa couldn't even speak. Luckily Daenerys continued and saved her the trouble, "That man is the vilest sort of man, and a traitor I do not wish to have scheming in my courts. We have been looking for him as he stands accused of many other crimes as well, and I do not take kindly to men that prey upon and use young girls."

"Am I..." Sansa started, "Am I not to be punished?"

The Queen actually snorted with a laugh. "Heavens no!" she exclaimed, "you were ill used and fought against your jailor. In addition, your story has brought to light the endings of two wanted criminals as well as given me many names that I intend to pay close attention in the future. Many people killed during the war, I see this as no different than another battle." With a sharp turn of her head, the Queen looked to Sansa's husband. "Tyrion," she addressed him with narrowed eyes, "Baelish is dead and while I know you will want revenge on the other parties involved, I suggest you not act without consulting me. Remember, your flight from King's Landing is what led you to my court. We will come up with something for the Tyrells soon, and we will do something to assure the allegiance of those Vale Lords as well. For now, I suggest you take your wife back to your rooms. She looks quite shaken and in need of a rest."

With that, they were dismissed and sent back to their rooms. Sansa didn't even notice the emptiness of the halls until they were almost at their chamber door and said so.

"It is late, My Lady," Tyrion informed her, "You were out some time with your fit and the story was quite long. I would assume most of the castle went to bed a couple hours ago."

Sansa noted the strain in his voice and all she could say was, "Oh."

When they entered the room Tyrion bid her get ready for bed and he retired to the adjoining room. Sansa dressed quickly and he was so long coming back to their bedroom that she wondered if he'd even come back at all. For her part, she couldn't sleep. It seemed like there was something important she needed to say still, but she had no idea what it was.

Eventually his footsteps came into the room and she felt the bed dip under his weight as he lay down. For a moment Sansa lay still wondering whether to remain where she was or let him know she was awake. In the end she rolled over to him. "Tyrion," she asked softly, "Are you angry?"

He looked at her for a moment before he said, "I thought you had already gone to sleep."

"I can't sleep," she whispered simply.

With a sigh he nodded, "nor can I." She thought that might be the end of it, but after a couple minutes he began to speak. "I'm not angry- not at you anyway. Though I am considering hiring a necromancer to revive Littlefinger simply so I can tear him to pieces myself." Despite herself Sansa laughed and Tyrion argued, "You laugh but there are plenty in the free cities," but even he gave a small chortle then.

Another moment of silence stretched between them before Sansa timidly piped up, "Tyrion?"

"Hmm?" he mused looking at her.

Even before she spoke her face turned red. "Petyr and Harry... They never... "

Tyrion shook his head and cut her off tersely, "You don't have to tell me this Sansa." But from how tense his body became, she knew he thought the worst.

Placing her delicate hand firmly on his chest over his nightshirt, she insisted, "But I do Tyrion. I do because I want you to know they never had me." Her husband had stilled at this and Sansa had found that her hand had slipped a little, her fingertips seeking out the warm skin of his chest. "They kissed me and they..." she swallowed hating the word, "groped... me over my clothing, but that was it. They intended to do more, both of them, but neither accomplished any more than that. It was why I reacted so strongly when Petyr lifted my skirts and tried to take me in the greenhouse. I hated every minute that either of them touched me! I hated their hands and their lips! I didn't want them to touch me at all! And Petyr was the worst! He made me pretend to be his daughter, made me call him Father, and then did to me things no father would ever do! I never wanted to be touched again!"

Tyrion was looking at her intently and she knew that as much as he didn't want to hear about the other men who wanted her, he wouldn't stop her from speaking. With a deep breath Sansa continued, "When we were first married, I didn't trust you because you were a Lannister and after everything Joffrey, Cersei and your father did, I couldn't imagine that you were not out to use me as well." Tyrion opened his lips to speak, but Sansa quickly moved her hand from his chest to his lips to stop him from interrupting. "No, let me finish, love. I know now that isn't true, but back then I believed that everyone in King's Landing was out to get me. Of course I wasn't with Littlefinger more than a couple weeks before he was pawing at me all the time. And Harry tried to kiss me the very day he met me. Soon I began to realize what it must have been for you to be married to me, to share my bed, know I was legally yours for the taking and still restrain even with your father demanding you to take me. It wasn't until I was away that I realized this and I realized that I trusted you. I began to regret not telling you about Dantos and the hairnet. The more Petyr pressed me, the more I wondered whether you could have kept me safe from him. I was a fool..."

"You were scared and miserable," Tyrion interjected through her fingers, so Sansa moved them away and let them linger down his cheek to his neck.

"But still a fool," she insisted. "When Sandor found me he wanted to take me back to my family in Winterfell."

"Why didn't you go there then?" he asked when she trailed off.

Looking up into his mismatched eyes, Sansa sighed. "Because after they uncovered what happened, they would have had me examined by the Septas and realized I was still a maid. They would have had our marriage annulled and married me off to some Lord or another for an alliance that had little to do with me and I didn't want that."

Swallowing before he spoke, Tyrion asked, "What did you want?"

"To be with someone I can trust," she replied. She looked at him a long time after this and though he had grown no more beautiful than he had been on their wedding night, she gazed upon his familiar visage and found him endearing. "Even now. I've been here nearly a month, Tyrion. I came mostly back to myself quite a bit ago and have kissed you of my own free will and to my own enjoyment. And still you hold back so as not to cause me discomfort."

"I told you I would do nothing that you didn't want me to," he shrugged as if it were nothing. But Sansa's experience had taught her that other men were greedier than that.

"I know," she nodded, "and I thank you for that Tyrion, for giving me time and space and for showing me I can trust you." After pausing to emphasize her next point she stated plainly, "Tyrion, I _do _want you."

Tyrion blinked and shook his head as if confused. "Are you saying..."

"Yes, Tyrion," Sansa insisted, "I want you."

"Right now?" he asked as though he didn't believe it.

"Yes," she whispered moving closer to him. "Reliving all that today... I hated it! It's like living it all over again and I don't want that. I hated how they made me feel. Tyrion I want you to take me. I want to know what it feels like when..." Sansa blushed and turned her head away.

Catching her cheek softly, he gently turned her face back to his. "When what?" he asked.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and said, "When you're touched by someone you love."

There was a sharp intake of breath before Tyrion pulled her close and kissed her. Pulling back slightly he whispered, "And do you love me, Sansa?"

Nodding into his hand she whispered, "Very much. Do you love me?"

He kissed her again and laughed against her lips, "Foolish girl! I love you more than anything."

There was no hesitation between them then, as they both sought comfort from the other's body, pulling off clothing and kissing newly uncovered flesh. Sansa reveled in her husband's touch and almost couldn't believe anything could feel so good. His hands excited her as they made their way across her body. And though the moment he first entered her was marked by a sharp stinging sensation, the pain subsided quickly and Sansa found herself enjoying the curious new feeling of having him inside her. There was more than hunger and lust between them, and a strange idea came to her that he wasn't simply filling her with his body but with everything he felt for her as well. Soon her thoughts abandoned her completely as he was moving faster within her and her own body, possessed by some force she never had imagined before, moved faster and faster against his own. A moan escaped her and she thought it might have been embarrassing until she noted the reaction it caused in her husband. After that she didn't try so hard to stay quiet. Losing herself, the feelings overwhelmed her until her body began to shake as her excitement peeked. Tyrion's heavy hiss of "Yes," reassured Sansa that this was supposed to happen and she whimpered as the pleasure overtook her. With a few more strokes, Tyrion called out her name and spent his hot seed inside her.

Their joining was sweet and when they collapsed sated and sweaty in each other's embrace, Tyrion laughed. "I'm glad you refused me on our wedding night."

"You are?" Sansa asked surprised.

"Yes, I'd much rather hear you moaning my name and begging for my touch than tolerating it out of duty."

Sansa blushed crimson remembering how wanton his ministrations made her feel. She struggled for a response, but when none came she pulled her husband toward her and kissed him deeply instead. It didn't take them long to fall asleep after that, as exhausted as they were. And Sansa's last thought as she lay naked lazily in Tyrion's embrace was that perhaps what they'd just done would result in a child. The thought had once terrified her, but tonight it simply made her smile and filled her with dreams for what their future might bring.

* * *

The End

* * *

Author's Note: Alright, that's the last of it! Thanks for reading! I am sorry if this chapter felt long in coming. I am at the stage in my pregnancy where I am exhausted again, and I have been busy getting ready to go out of town. (Wanted to get this posted first though!) I hope you enjoyed it! Getting this posted makes me want to go through some of the many other Tyrion/Sansa fics I've written but haven't yet edited up on the site. Maybe when we get back. ;) Anyhow, thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!


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